fire
one
The littlest fire deity slowly opened his eyes and felt the air on his face for the first time. His proud parents beamed back proudly and his mother said, “You’ll make a great king one day.”
The little fire deity lost his wooden sword and winced as his sparring partner disarmed him and jabbed him firmly in the chest with his blunted, wooden sword. Without warning, the sword burst into flames and the sparring partner recoiled, his hand burned. His father, watching from the balcony chuckled, “Haha! At all costs, son! You’ll make a great king one day.”
The slightly bigger fire deity came back from a hunt, clutching several foxes, wearing a large grin on his face. “His son tried to steal a fox,” as he pointed to a man in chains at his side, “but he would make a better slave.” His mother placed her palm on his shoulder, “No mercy, son. You’ll make a great king one day!”
A full grown fire deity now stood next to his own little fire deity and surveyed his kingdom. A rival army was vast and approaching. They had scorched the countryside, borrowing the fire deity’s tactics and embers swirled in the night sky. He had been unchallenged for decades, no one daring to test his volcanic resolve. He knew this upstart would be just another in his long-line of would-be challengers.
The little fire deity tugged at the larger’s war-scarred thumb. Now he remembered the costs he paid— the fear he saw, the companions lost, the phantom of the king he thought he could be — across his many pyrrhic victories. Was it worth it? He picked up the little deity with one arm, leaving his father’s sword and his mother’s rings, and signaled that his reign was over.
